(3/13) News from Thrush Green (26 page)

Their combined efforts had made it one of the tidiest and most attractive gardens at Thrush Green. Harold surveyed, with pleasure, the double row of sturdy broad beans, and the neat labels which showed where carrots, early potatoes and beetroot had been planted. The currant and gooseberry bushes, which he had rescued from suffocation last autumn, were making vigorous growth, and Phil's fruit trees had plenty of blossom. The walnut tree which grew at the end of the garden, by the Baileys' wall, was in young auburn leaf.

Everything, Harold thought, looked in good heart, and when Phil came from the house to join him, he thought how well she looked too. There was a radiance about her which was new.

Of course, he told himself, he had never known the girl when she had been free of worry. Now, with the winter and its tragedy behind her, she seemed to be responding to the spring with all the natural joy of young things. How easy it would be to take the plunge, to ask her to marry him, to leave it to the gods - and to Phil - to arrange his future!

He realised that she was looking at him, as though she read his thoughts.

She put out a hand and touched his arm, speaking quickly as though she had just come to a decision.

'Come and sit down for a minute. I've something to tell you.'

He followed her to an old garden seat which the admiral had placed years ago in a sunny corner against a southern wall. At Harold's feet an early bee was rolling over and over, its striped furry body entwined with a wallflower blossom from which it was zealously extracting the honey.

'I've some wonderful news,' said Phil, 'and I want you to be the first to know. Can you guess?'

Harold looked at her. He had always thought that poets grossly overstated things when they talked of eyes like stars. Now he began to understand.

'I was never good at guessing,' he confessed.

'I only knew myself yesterday. Frank has asked me to marry him. Say you're pleased.'

Harold took a deep breath. If he felt a pang of jealousy, it vanished at once. Wholeheartedly, he congratulated her.

'He's the luckiest devil in the world,' he told her sincerely, taking her hands in his.

'He's coming here tomorrow to arrange things with the rector,' said Phil. 'We had the longest telephone talk ever known to the Lulling exchange last night. We shall get married this summer.'

She leant forward and kissed Harold on the cheek.

'And will you give me away?' she asked.

'It's like asking me to part with my heart,' replied Harold, half-meaning it, 'but since you ask me, I shall count it an honour, my dear.'

They stood up and gazed across the garden.

'Will you leave Thrush Green?' asked Harold.

'We haven't got that far,' smiled Phil. 'But I don't think I could ever leave Tullivers. We could build on, I suppose.'

She looked about her vaguely, trying to envisage the future, and suddenly became conscious of the wonder of a life which contained such a precious element as sure joy to come.

She turned to Harold wonderingly.

'What is it about Thrush Green which makes it so special? Is it the air, or the green, or the people?'

Harold considered the question seriously before he spoke. In the silence between them they could hear the distant sounds of a Thrush Green morning. Miss Fogerty's children called to each other in the playground, the rooks cawed above St Andrew's elms, and Winnie Bailey's voice could be heard as she opened a window to the sunshine.

'All those things make Thrush Green,' said Harold, 'and much, much more.'

He thought of his own restless wanderings abroad, and his present joy. Here he had found a home and deep happiness. He knew he shared this feeling with the girl beside him. Thrush Green seemed to have some magic quality which they both recognized instinctively.

'The power of healing,' said Harold softly, as if to himself.